I decided to use more then 10 lines... because I could Her heels clicked on the marble staircase Red like blood, and making her look far taller than she really was Her skirt was tight; fitting against her slim body She had little range of motion in that skirt It annoyed her But no matter, she had a mission Being an aspiring artist, one must find inspiration In whatever, whomever, or wherever She, unlike most, found hers in the largest of buildings Not the building itself, nor any random building No, no That just wouldn’t do She found her inspiration was set ablaze in the museums Beautiful artistry lined thousands of square feet And silence flowed from every mouth like honey It was her haven And today was Like any other, only this time she picked something a bit more excited The museums of tunne It was Finnish, the name Other languages always gave her a pep in her step So, she found something with both things she loved Though, yes, she loved other languages, she hadn’t quite gotten around to learning Finnish With Spanish, French, German, and Arabic Finnish hadn’t come up So truly, this would be a surprise on what she would find Making it to the doors, she could already see all the EXHIBITS Sparkling, seeming untouchable, and fragile Perfect, she thought She entered And the air conditioning hit her face with great force Shocking her for only a moment, until she pulled out her jacket she had brought along she snuggled deep inside She loved to be kept warm in cool places ...... It had been about an hour, and she had found inspiration But Not like she’s hoped The artifacts, and painting, and sculptures were very odd They seems out of place and miss configured One In particular was especially intriguing Labeled LAMENT on its base, it was a dark figure of sorts Like a diamond in rotation, every time you moved, even slightly, it wasn’t what is was before First it was a small grave, then, moving slightly to the left, it was a brain that looked to be melting It went on like this about 15 times, shifting into something new on every turn It was peculiar- strange But it sparked her interest; INHABITING much space in her mind She didn’t mind though With inspiration hitting like a train, she whipped out her sketch book and began to do what she did best: she made art Her hands moved, grace and poise wherever her pencil was placed Finding a bench, she sat and drew Getting up every once and awhile to see what thing she would see next Finally, she finished The sun had set now, and her skirt annoyed her more then ever but none of that matter now She had made a masterpiece A peculiar lament